


hush now, don't cry (it's just a lullaby)

by GerbilofTriumph, GoddessOfTechnology



Category: King's Quest (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bruises, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Restraints
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:19:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29864898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GerbilofTriumph/pseuds/GerbilofTriumph, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessOfTechnology/pseuds/GoddessOfTechnology
Summary: Manny paused, giving Graham his full attention this time, and added with clear irritation, “And I thought I requested new royal jewelry to be given as a welcoming gift. Some lovely iron bracelets I’d picked out just for you. But I suppose this will do well enough. It won’t matter in the end, will it?”~=~In another time, another universe, perhaps they did forget the bracelets, the restraints. But not this time. This time, they remembered.The snap of the shackles on his wrists stings of finality, of failure. If only the shackles were the worst part of Manny’s revenge on the helpless king of Daventry.
Kudos: 1





	hush now, don't cry (it's just a lullaby)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An AU of an AU, building off of GerbilofTriumph’s ficlet [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28051545/chapters/73063035) until it grew into its own (delightfully angsty) thing.
> 
> Fic: GoddessOfTechnology  
> Art: GerbilofTriumph

“This won’t end here.”

Graham would say more, _should_ say more - it’s not enough, weak and ineffectual, words nearly drowned out by the whistle of the wind and the rushing of the river. Words with no power behind them, no substance, nothing except the wild hopeless anger of some creature caught in the teeth of a bear trap. He can’t let this stand, can’t let this happen without doing _something._

But Manny just shrugs. Nonchalant, self-assured. He says something sharp in goblinese and Graham finds himself gagged, words choked away by the press of a goblin’s hand. 

“You’re right,” says Manny, too casual, too natural, as if Graham’s words hold no more weight than a handful of feathers blown away by the wind. “It won’t end here. I can’t just kill you. The guards would be offended at that, and I wouldn’t be permitted to take what is owed without a lot of fuss and bother. But I can make this _fun_. And when they find your starved body, dead of the most natural accidental cause, left at the bottom of some cavern, they’ll be looking for a successor, not a scapegoat. And who else would be the best choice but second place?” He shakes his head. “Second place, ridiculous. Never should have happened. I’ll make them forget about that.”

Something harsh and furious bubbles over. Graham kicks out, aiming for Manny’s legs, suddenly wanting nothing more than to see him fall, see him clatter to the ground, see his confidence and swagger shatter like a dropped plate. 

His feet touch nothing but empty air. Manny sidesteps easily. “Temper, temper,” he chides, waggling a finger, and Graham snarls, the sound lost behind the goblin’s hand. It’s no use. The trap is sprung, the prey caught fast, and all he can do now is growl.

“Such violence isn’t becoming of a king,” Manny says after a moment, something new there, something darkly eager in the undercurrent of his words. “I think it’s time you learned some _restraint._ ”

Something about those words - the way they’re said, like a purr - sends shivers down his spine. He isn’t given the time to contemplate it. The goblins drag him away, to the mattress drifting in the water, his kicking and muffled shrieking no match for dozens of hands.

The last he sees of Manny, as he twists to look over his shoulder, is his once-upon-a-time friend holding something glinting, metal, in his hands.

~=~

He does his best. Really, he _does,_ pretty words flitting through his head like sparks, arguments and pleas and explanations and threats. Things he could say to convince them to let him go. 

It’s just that there’s not much you can do against numbers and ropes and spears and a gag shoved between your teeth. The goblin king doesn’t even spare a second glance to his mangled struggles and protests. He just takes a few moments to assess Graham, with particular attention paid to his crown, and once he’s satisfied, he dismisses Graham and his surrounding goblin guards with a wave of one rock-clad hand. 

One more door closed. Graham can tell that he’s running out of opportunities. He has to get through to them, somehow, has to tell the goblins that they’re being tricked, manipulated, but Manny is careful and cunning and so far Graham’s chances have been nonexistent.

He’s dragged down corridors and caves, through narrow rock passageways, rocks occasionally scraping against him as he’s shoved along. Once, he thinks he hears a sound, a voice, distressingly familiar, filled with fear, but it’s gone a moment later, and when he tries to stop to listen he’s swiftly dissuaded by a spear pressed between his shoulder blades.

Their journey isn’t terribly long. They round a corner, at some point, and there is Manny, standing in the middle of the path, waiting, expectant, the glinting piece of metal still clasped in his hands, twisting in his hands. There’s a metallic slicing sort of sound at Graham’s back, and then the ropes fall free from his wrists, tumbling to the ground. The gag shortly follows, Graham spitting out the fabric the moment it’s cut free, glaring at his captor as defiantly as he can.

“Your Majesty,” says Manny, the grin audible in his voice, grating. “So nice of you to join us. I trust the journey was pleasant?”

“Oh, yes, _very,_ ” Graham says bitterly, rubbing his wrists to ease the bite of the ropes. There’s that urge again, dark and angry, to strike out at Manny, to see him falter, if only for a moment. He probably would, if it weren’t for the spears held at his back.

Manny doesn’t seem fazed by his words. In fact, he just seems _amused._ “I’m so glad to hear that. I’m sure you’ll find this next part _just_ as enjoyable.”

“What do you - “ and then he’s cut short when Manny holds out his hands, showing off the piece of metal he’s holding. 

Shackles. Heavy, ugly things, two manacles connected by a chain. Manny plays with them, amusing himself by snapping them closed, first one and then the other, before opening them with a twist of a small key. Graham feels his mouth going dry, finds himself staring as if hypnotized.

“Do you remember what I said before, about showing restraint?” _Click. Snap._ “Well. You know what they say about practice. No time like the present, is there?”

“Stay away from me.” His voice sounds strange to his own ears, barely recognizable. He can’t look away from the shackles, can’t stop thinking about them snapped around his wrists, heavy and restrictive and awful. 

Manny doesn’t even dignify his words with a response, just laughs in his face. “Hold out your hands, Majesty, lest someone else do it for you.”

_Give in,_ mutters a part of him, _there’s no way you can fight him._ Yet Graham hesitates, too long, unable to make himself move. It all just feels too unreal, too horrific. 

Manny has no patience for his reservations. He barks something sharp and commanding, and the two closest goblins grab Graham by the arms before he can blink. It happens far too quickly. They yank at his wrists, pulling them in front of himself, in reach of Manny, and with a fluid motion Manny clamps the iron bracelets around his wrists. _Snap-snap,_ first one and then the other. Makes a show of putting away the key, hiding it somewhere in his armor.

Graham stares at the manacles a moment, stunned. A numb part of him notes that they’re not as tight as they could have been - not loose, to be sure, not enough to slip off his hand, nowhere close, but a part of him expected Manny to make them as tight as possible, to not be content until the iron was crushing his wrists. Manny seems to notice as well, because with a small huff, he grabs at the chain linking Graham’s wrists, giving an experimental tug. The cuffs slide enough to jar painfully against the base of his palm, but they stop there, yanking him forward so he stumbles.

“It’ll do,” says Manny, and lets go. Graham’s wrists are aching even worse than before. “Yes, it’ll do just fine. Come along, now, Your Majesty. Your rooms are ready for you.”

~=~

The walk is short enough, just a handful of corridors, but there’s time enough for fierce fearful anticipation to build under his skin, sharp and cold. Instinct tells him that more is coming, something worse than bruises and shackles. Surely this can’t be enough, surely Manny won’t be satisfied with this. 

( _But I can make this_ fun)

The so-called ‘rooms’ are just a cell. Nothing more, nothing less. Stone, bare stone, lined with harsh iron pipes. The floor sloshes with water, and the room is plunged in near-total darkness. As they enter, strange blue salamanders glow at their intrusion, casting ghostly shadows on the walls, on the stone table, on the...bed.

Graham’s breathing stutters to a halt.

Chains. Chains lying on the bed, glittering cold blue in the light of the salamanders. They curl chaotically over the bare mattress like so many heavy iron snakes, dark and evil-looking, looped around the legs and frame of the bed. Every so often along their confusing lengths, a lock sparkles hungrily, sturdy-looking and wicked.

And yet, in the madness, there’s a pattern to them, a strategy. Perfect for wrapping around someone’s waist, arms, shoulders, legs, perfect for tying someone down. Wild fear building under his skin, Graham finds he can imagine a person chained there, bound down, unable to move an inch. Can imagine how the chains would loop around the unfortunate soul’s arms, torso, legs.

_His_ arms. _His_ torso. _His_ legs.

( _I think it’s time you learned some restraint_ , Manny said, and in a flash of terror the words gain a new sort of clarity)

He doesn’t think. He doesn’t plan. There’s nothing in his head but an explosion of wild, howling terror. He bolts, like the rabbit who sees the snapping teeth of the fox.

The cell erupts into chaos, into yelling, into hands grabbing at him, bruising fingers digging into his arms, his legs. Dragging him down, keeping him from escaping, burying the exit in a mass of stone-clad bodies. Graham screams and yells and kicks and pleads and it doesn’t help at all, not a bit, no matter how much he cries out, no matter how much he says _please, please, not this, anything but this._

They drag him to the bed, shrieking and kicking. Something hits him in the back of the knees, and his legs buckle, and hands pick him up by his arms and legs and toss him onto the bed, like he’s nothing more than a particularly animated sack of flour. He scrabbles, tries to push away, to fight back, but these goblins are numerous and quick and very, very well-trained, and he’s frightened and alone and clumsy around his shackles.

The first chain wraps around his waist - tight, cinched tight, so it presses him into the mattress, the lock clicking shut. The second goes over his chest, also too tight, almost painful with every heaving, panicked breath he takes. The third goes over his ankles, and the fourth over his upper arms, and the fifth his thighs, and with every click of a lock he’s further confined, further trapped, further unable to fight back, until he can’t do much of anything except rattle feebly at his assailants. The chains are heavy, suffocating, cold, unyielding. He pulls and kicks and feels like he’s drowning in iron, feels so terrified he thinks he might die.

“A good king,” says Manny, ignoring his thrashing, ignoring his frantic wheezing gasps for air, ignoring his senseless uncontrolled begging, “knows when to speak, and when to hold his tongue. You, unfortunately, don’t know either. Allow me to help with that.”

Fabric, stuffed in his mouth, forcefully enough that he briefly chokes on it. Graham twists away, numb with horror, but at a bark from Manny a goblin grabs his head, holding it still, and with nimble fingers Manny threads another piece of fabric between his teeth, tying the knot off none-too-gently. Graham thrashes and struggles and gains absolutely nothing for his efforts, nothing apart from the gentle rattling of the chains. 

“It’s not too tight, is it?” asks Manny, conversational, goading. “I hope not. If you’re uncomfortable, just say the word. I would hate for someone as noble as yourself to feel anything but perfectly at home.”

It’s bait, and Graham falls for it, yelling something garbled and muffled through the gag. Manny just looks at him quizzically, before shaking his head. “You really need to learn to speak more clearly, Graham. It’s a wonder anyone can understand you. Still,” and he steps back, away, leaving Graham alone, _alone,_ “since you have no complaints, we’ll leave you to your rest.”

Graham isn’t sure what he tries to say, but even without the gag mangling his words he probably wouldn’t make much sense. There’s not much more going through his head other than _please_ and _stop_ and _help me._ It doesn’t matter, in any case. Under Manny’s direction, the goblins troop out, one by one, vanishing into the shadows of the corridors beyond. 

“So long, Majesty,” says Manny, words ringing mockingly on the stone walls. “If you need anything, just yell, and someone will be with you directly.”

And, with a final cackle of laughter, the cell door swings shut, another lock clicking into place. Manny is gone. Graham is alone.

He claws at the chains, heartbeat thudding in his ears, loud and disorienting - he can’t breathe, not enough, not with the gag in the way, and a faint lightheadedness is starting to seep in. Resistance meets him from all sides, holding him down, keeping him still. He whimpers, the sound muffled behind his gag, and tries to raise himself on his elbows, but his arms jerk and shudder a mere couple of inches before the chains go taut, and his torso is pinned, and he can’t get out and he can’t breathe and he can’t move and he can’t -

No. He can get free. He can. He _has_ to. Has to, because the alternative of being stuck here in the dark and silence, unable to move, unable to look away, forever, is too horrible to contemplate. This can’t be real, it can’t be, if he tries long enough he has to break free, he has to.

Choked sobs turned to mush by the gag, Graham yanks against the chains. Again, and again, and again. His vision is blurring with tears and dizziness is setting in, but that’s not important. None of it is important. He just has to keep trying. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. He’ll succeed. Sometime, eventually.

It’ll work. It has to. 

~=~

(It doesn’t, and it doesn’t)

* * *


End file.
